


Melancholy Flowers

by melsdiscmellohi



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dream Team SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Best Friends, Betrayal, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Puppy Love, Regret, Sad Ending, Secret Crush, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29789502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melsdiscmellohi/pseuds/melsdiscmellohi
Summary: They're best friends. Dream has a plan, but he doesn't tell George. George's trust for Dream is shattered, and George is left utterly heartbroken, slowly going insane. Does he ever pull through?"The burning anger in his stomach receded back to pure heartbreak. George had handed Dream his whole heart, trusted him with it, and Dream gave it back in pieces. Sorrow pervaded George, cutting like a wound, right to the bone."
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream, Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & Georgenotfound (Video Blogging RFP), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Melancholy Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! this is my first fic on here, so please dm me if i did things such as made a spelling error or tagged something incorrectly!
> 
> MAJOR TW: implied suicide, mentions of suicide, HEAVY angst, a whole lot of sadness, death, panic attacks

Dream started rubbing his thumb back and forth across George's hand. That made George tense up ever so slightly. He wanted to re-gather his equanimity, to poise himself, but he was very cynical in his ability to do something that required his full attention. Something that required him to be so obsequious. Especially as he had only just gained realisation that he completely melts under Dream's touch. Dream could ask something of George right now, and George would be so transfixed that all he could fathom would be an indolent nod and a subtle, nervous smile. George was sure his ubiquitous pining over him was so thick in the atmosphere that it was tangible. George's mind was just sheer, opulent emotion. Diminutive flecks of confusion also coiled around his skull, sending vitriolic thoughts flashing across his vision. It was overwhelming. 

"What makes you think you're enough for Dream?" He asked himself.

George thought about it more. Dream is literally perfect. A golden child. Yes, maybe Dream's past on the SMP hasn't been the most smooth. But now, after being sent to rehabilitation for a while, Dream was seen as a role model. It was as if everyone's memory of Dream's fiendish past had been wiped, their traumas turned to dust and swept under a rug. All the crimes he had committed, the betrayals, the manipulation. The arguments, the murders. The psychotic laugh many people had to endure in their last few moments whilst being tortured both mentally and physically in the most awful, unthinkable ways. Everyone looked up to him - he had money, he had fame, he even somehow had friends, he was talented, kind, amazing and- 

George stopped himself from going any further. He could write a whole book on Dream, how amazing he is. Provided he purposefully snipped out Dream's deranged episodes where he would cause chaos and terror to the SMP. He could write about how much he lo- cares- yes, cares for Dream. George could talk for hours upon hours about how much he appreciates Dream and everything he does for him. He could do all this, yet he could never fathom the strength to say the L-word to Dream. Not even over text, let alone to his face. George struggled with displaying affection, which is, as he tried to convince himself, completely and utterly valid. It doesn't make him a sociopath or a bad person, despite how often those caustic thoughts trudged across the depths of his mind. Yes, George could smile, laugh, have crushes on people, but George found it hard giving back, if that makes sense? George’s giggles were a way of thanking people for their displays of affection, but George could never really figure out how to show other people he loved them. 

He wasn't sure what his love language was. He supposed it was just.. uh.. acts of service maybe? Gift giving? He often scoured the SMP wilderness for hours upon hours just to find suitable flowers to slip into bouquets for Dream. He couldn't see the colours of the flowers, but he often rigorously checked them through with Bad first, just to make sure they didn't look awful. George enjoyed seeing the pure glow of halcyon on Dream's face every time he visited him in prison with a handful of, what George assumed was, brightly coloured flora. George found solace in studying Dream as he revelled in the cobalt blue cornflowers, the aureolin sunflowers, cerulean orchids, carnelian poppies and everything in between. George’s face lit up with total nirvana every time a praise slid off Dream’s tongue, reassuring George his efforts were appreciated. 

"Beautiful colours Georgie," "I love these ones!" 

Oh, and when Dream taught George the names of all the flowers, that was the best part. When Dream spoke to George about the things he's passionate about, it gave George a warm feeling in his stomach, and spread a wide grin across his face. Dream would often pick apart the bouquets flower by flower, gently indicating to each flowerhead with his large, calloused fingers, explaining the colours to George. Dream would tell George the name of the flower, the origin of the name, where you find the flower, everything. That made George so genuinely giddy. Dream poured his heart into every explanation, ostracizing everyone but him, George, and the flowers he was caressing between his fingers. George tried his hardest to espouse every fact Dream spoon-fed him, but George was often distracted by Dream’s fizzing excitement and pretty green eyes. They were like transfixing pools of viridian. They glowed with positivity every time they rested their gaze on one of George’s bouquets.

George’s favourite flower was the buttercup. The buttercup was a beautiful lemon. A bright, and warm colour. Buttercups add a subtle tint to anyone’s chin when you rest them underneath. However, they rarely featured in his weekly bouquets, due to their size. 

George thought back to his childhood on the SMP - he remembered tussling along the commons, up by the community house, with Dream. He remembered how once they had finished their usual roughhousing, they would lie on their backs and study the clouds as they drifted past. George would lie across Dream’s chest, plucking at daisies and buttercups on the ground, making flower crowns. He often gifted these treasures to Dream, as Sapnap wasn’t as appreciative of nature. Sapnap often ditched Dream and George to go hunting. Yes, his efforts to feed their group was kind, but they wanted to spend time altogether. 

Almost daily, Dream would yield a buttercup from the lawn, and let it ascend to rest under George’s chin. 

“You like butter!” He’d exclaim, nearly as if they hadn’t done this a thousand times already. As if they didn’t already know the results. George would snatch the delicate flower from Dream’s hand and return the favor, crawling up Dream’s chest and settling the flower just below his chin. 

“Dream, you like butter too!” Then they would laugh. They would giggle. Crack jokes. Roll around, revelling in the grass, making the most of the sun. George missed those days. Stress-free, no worries whatsoever. However, that doesn’t mean his current situation with Dream wasn’t as desirable as his childhood situation. It’s just, you see, now they have adult responsibilities. They have to deal with wars, sub-countries within the Dream SMP, rivalries and all the rest of it. It’s worse, because there’s not an enforced justice system, just Dream trying to deal with everyone. If people disagree with Dream, there’s another revolution, another war, more canon lives gone, more destruction. It’s very stressful. 

George still got moments with Dream where Dream would be all soft, appreciating the flowers, or thanking George for some other thing. Moments where they’d lie on their backs in a field, just like when they were kids, and reminisce, or complain, or talk about their new interests. 

George had severely missed the field-talks when Dream was in prison, as they weren’t allowed out of Dream’s cell during visitation hours. In fact, George was extremely lucky that Warden Sam even let him bring in bouquets for Dream each week. 

The field-talks had turned to slightly awkward, dull and melancholy exchanges of words as they sat with their backs against the wall on opposite sides of Dream’s cell. They avoided eye contact, and just accepted their fates as the cold from the stone seeped deep into their bones. They were still affectionate, but it was in their silence rather than their words. Neither knew what to say. A blanket of sombreness always fell on the atmosphere. George knew prison time was the best thing for Dream, but he never wanted to admit it. He didn’t want to have to see Dream caged up in a small space, confined like an animal. Dream wasn’t an animal. He was Dream, his Dream. The Dream he knew and lov- cared greatly for. The Dream he grew up with. He wouldn’t harm anyone. Dream only turned out this way because of that bastard Wilbur. Wilbur took everything from Dream, all his people, friends, land. 

Even though all of that happened, George, Wilbur, Dream and everyone else had agreed to put it past them. George couldn’t complain about the Great L’Manburg Revolution anymore, because Wilbur, the leader of it, had passed away. He had passed away after bombing L’Manburg, in a final hoorah. He was in a room with Philza when he had pressed the button, then requested Phil to plunge a knife into his chest. Perhaps that was considered assisted suicide? Murder even? George didn’t know, but nobody punished Philza for the action, because Wilbur’s death was happy news, not sad news. It brought down a rain of relief on the Greater SMP citizens. The only people affected negatively by his perishing were Tommy and Tubbo. It was understandable, as Wilbur was their father figure. Wilbur had raised them, despite his villainish personality. 

“Hey boys.” A gruff voice called out from the bottom of the hill that Dream and George were perched upon, dragging George from his thoughts. George sat up, moving onto his knees, shrugging away from the arm belonging to Dream that had been tightly clasped around his shoulder. Dream stayed splayed out next to George, hand shielding his eyes from the glaring, lurid sunlight rays falling from the sky. George recognised that voice. He began scanning the expanse of tall stalks of grass swaying side to side, trying to spot him. Him. Alex Quackity. The man he and Dream despised. 

“George, what are you doing? I was nearly asleep. Come lie down, tell me about that mushroom patch in the clearing you mentioned earlier?” Dream spoke softly, slurring the words, sleep coated thickly on his tongue. George turned to face Dream. He looked very peaceful. Dream’s hair was dishevelled from sleep, falling slightly askew across his forehead. Dream had freckles crawling across his face, which George thought were very cute. His chest rose and fell as he breathed. Dream’s hair was the same colour as wheat, and that’s why wheat was something George always carried around. His second favourite type of field was a wheat field. He loved idly plunging into the towers of gold and meandering around, revelling in the soft tops and the spiky, lissom stalks. He was often accompanied by Dream there, but he didn't dare tell Dream why he loved wheat so much. Dream would latch onto his hand and yank him to different spots to point little things out, “George! A ladybug!” “Look, this one’s falling over.”

“Come talk.” The hoarse voice hollered towards George again, snapping George from his temporary daydream. He prodded at Dream’s arm frantically.

“Dream, Dream,” He leaned down, whisper-shouting in Dream’s ear. Dream groaned and rolled over fruitlessly, ignoring George’s panic. “Dream, wake up, Quackity is here.” He hissed into Dream’s ear. It was evident that Dream was still half-asleep, as his reaction time was much slower than usual. Dream lay still for a moment, then processed the information George had just fed to him. Dream immediately snapped up to a sitting position, his back erect. 

“What did you just say?” Dream asked, somewhat in disbelief. They hadn’t agreed on a meeting with Alex anytime soon, so, why was he here? Not only that, but he was here, disrupting one of Dream and George’s private moments where they could escape the real world. Where they could forget everything and just laugh and talk. Alex must’ve followed them to this field, because it was quite far from the built-up parts of the Greater Dream SMP. 

“It’s Alex. He’s down there somewhere.” George pointed to the sunflowers dancing across the foot of the slope they were on. Dream ascended to his feet, brushing off the dirt from his corduroy trousers. He yanked on his shirt’s scruffy collar, fixing it to be straight. Anxiety bubbled in his stomach, was he really about to do this?

“Okay, let’s go, uh, ch- talk?” Dream suggested, trying to feign confidence, and ultimately failing. He stuttered on his words, nervousness wrapping around his head. George began brazenly striding down the hill, aiming for the sunflower patches, with knowledge that Alex’s voice had erupted from there. 

“Sure,” George replied, insouciantly, trooping faster down the hillside, “His voice came from here.” He exclaimed, pausing to peer into the depths of the flowers as best as he can. “Alex!” His voice boomed across the valley. Nothing but silence met him. The odd ruffle of trees’ leaves as they were kissed by the wind was the only thing to break the tense lack of noise. “Alex, just come out. We know you’re here. Come chat or something, I dunno.” George shouted out again, but with a false-sweet tone coating his words.

“Is he even here?” Dream murmured into George’s ear. George felt it as Dream’s body warmth lingered by his side. George considered that maybe he was just being haunted by his awful memories of Alex’s voice, and he hadn’t heard him at all. That was, until George spotted an unnatural shake come from a bush in his peripheral vision. He immediately twisted round to glare at the undergrowth.

“Alex.” George stated bluntly, crossing his arms as he eyed the leaves before him. Dream swivelled around to face in the general direction George was staring at. Dream scanned the undergrowth but he couldn’t see anything.

“Alex? Why are you hiding? Just come here.” Dream attempted to convince him. A figure wriggled free from the captivity of the greenery. Waves of chagrin tumbled from the stance of him. He quite clearly didn’t even try to feign feeling valorous, and instead just sauntered towards the edge of the trees, where Dream and George stood. Annoyance etched George’s face as he glared at Alex. Similarly, a clear sight of irritation tugged at Dream’s lip. 

“Nice little show you put on there.” George snarled.

“Aye, boys, aye,” Alex chuckled nervously, holding up his hands in self defense and dropping his head to study the floor.

“Well? Explain yourself?” George demanded. Dream had gone unnaturally quiet. George felt a buzz of camaraderie between him and Dream, so he just continued egging Alex on. Dream glanced up, meeting eyes with Quackity. Quackity gave him an esoteric nod. A gesture that George would see as idiosyncratic - why was Alex nodding at Dream?

Dream’s mind provided him with a succinct flash to the week before. He had been in the forest here, a blade in hand, carving himself a new shield. Dream was very artistic and creative, and he loved doing any hands-on work. Dream dug a groove into the shield, attempting to make a “D” in the centre. He guided the sharp blade along the soft wood with one of his calloused fingers, watching as peelings of wood curled around and plummeted to the floor. He enjoyed his alone time in the forest, safe and covered by the pine trees leaning across him overhead. He sat on a stump, a sea of pine needles at his feet, swarming around his walking boots. 

Then came a litany of quick memories that lie indelibly etched into Dream’s mind. 

One: He had heard a twig snap to the left of him. He paused, beginning to notice his hand cramping up with how diligently and tightly he had been clutching his carving knife. His head whipped around, scanning the darkness of the forest that rolled out in front of him. A figure stepped out.

Two: The figure darted around the clearing that Dream was seated in the midst of. He ran at a rapid pace, and sunk back into the shadows every few times Dream blinked. A bead of sweat dribbled down Dream’s forehead, a ball of uneasiness knotting in Dream’s stomach. His eyes shifted from one place to another, and it felt like everything was closing in on him. A panic attack? Was he experiencing a panic attack? Then the figure came to a halt right in front of him. There was a metre or two between him and whoever was here with him. The world slowly stopped spinning and the anxiety that had just permeated him began slowly ebbing away.

Three: The figure spoke, and asked Dream a question.

“Dream, hey buddy, calm down,” Alex… Alex Quackity? What was he doing here? And why was he comforting Dream rather than mocking him, or even attacking him? He felt a tight grip on his shoulder, and sensed someone’s face come within inches of his own. “Look at me dude, you’re alright. It’s just me.” Just him? Just him? Really? The amount of trauma Alex had caused Dream was absolutely unmeasurable. Dream looked up, fastening his gaze on Alex.

“Alex?” He let the question escape from his lips, still breathing heavily. “W- what?” He was completely breathless, and could barely get out a sentence.

“Just breathe, okay? You’re going to be okay.” Alex rubbed his thumb back and forth across Dream’s arm. It wasn’t really comforting, as it was Alex doing it, not someone Dream trusted. “Hey man I had a question for you.” Alex began, and the knot of anxiety returned in Dream’s stomach, pulling impossibly tighter than before.

“Yeah?” Dream had finally caught his breath enough to speak some more. He braced himself for the next words to slip from Alex’s tongue.

“Join me.” Two words. Only two words. Yet, their impact was massive. Obviously, it was a no from Dream, but he couldn’t bring himself to produce the words. A doltish thought obscured his mind: if Dream says no right now, Alex could kill him. He could torture him. He could… do so much. Do awful things. How nefarious of him - find Dream in a forest, alone, vulnerable, then give him a panic attack to get him to agree with your plan. An idea unfurled in Dream’s thoughts at that very moment. He had a plan. A good plan. A smart plan. 

Dream should say yes. Dream should join Quackity. However, of course, Dream wouldn’t actually be joining Alex. He would just simply say he was, and somehow prove it. He could pull an Eret and use this opportunity to get inside information on Quackity’s plans so he could then use it as an advantage and help himself and George take Alex down, once and for all. An impressive display, if it was carried out correctly. 

In order to successfully do this, Dream couldn’t tell George the plan. George would somehow let it slip, or Dream would get caught discussing matters with him. He couldn’t tell George. That would be difficult, because Dream tells everything to George. He mentally grimaced at that idea, splinters of regret already forming in the depths of his mind. He was snapped back to the here and now when Alex spoke.

“What do you say, big man?”

“Yes…” Dream tested the word, “Yes. I’ll join you. I don’t need George, he’s useless.”

Alex looked slightly surprised, until a sinister smile advanced across his face. “Did something happen?” He questioned, false-sweet concern evident in his tone.

“We fell out. Not a matter I feel like discussing, though.” Dream said bluntly. He couldn’t think of anything they would properly fall out over, so he tried his best to keep the topic brief, and move it on to something Dream could actually lie about.

“Ah, I see. Got it.” Alex said, getting to his feet. “Come with me, let’s talk about business plans a little more. I don’t feel like spending weeks upon weeks waiting for the right moment to pounce,” He giggled. He giggled his caustic, vile laugh. “Dream, you would know how to get rid of George better than any of my allies, right?” Alex held his hand out for Dream.

Dream laced his fingers with Alex’s, and let Alex tug him up to standing. Dream brushed the wood chippings off his lap. He quickly glanced behind him, realising his knife had disappeared. Alex Quackity, that dirty, scheming bastard. Dream grinned at Alex.

“Oh yeah, sure I do.” He assured Quackity. “However, I’m a bit tired right now, let’s have this conversation at-” He trailed off, eyes skittering around the clearing, thinking. “Midday. A week from now. Here.”

Which brought Dream’s memories to the present. Alex wasn’t spying on him and George, Alex was waiting for Dream. Dream had just forgotten.

“Dream.” Alex said, a noxious tone rolling on his tongue. He smiled smugly.

“Dream?” George turned to look at Dream, who was mulling over his previous decisions, inundated with regret. Dream was looking straight ahead, mouth dry. He reluctantly twisted to face George.

“George…” He began. He was about to apologise, when he realised that would abuse his plan. Instead he poised himself, regathering his equanimity. He squared up his shoulders and feigned confidence. “George. I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” He began, studying George’s facial expressions as he let each word fall from his tongue. Then he continued, as much certainty as he could fathom coating his words. “I’ve been with Quackity this whole time.”

There. He said it. He actually spoke the words, out loud, to George’s face. He heard a sly cackle erupt from Quackity, and saw a foul, crooked smile get slapped across Alex’s face. Dream turned back to George, who was stagnant. Signs of agony hugged George’s expression. Dream wanted nothing more than to tell George everything was just to gain leverage, that Dream loved him, that Dream would never betray him. Dream wanted to wrap George in his arms and cry with him, because he had been so stupid, but he couldn’t.

Instead, Dream stood there, watching George. George was static, a desolate expression permeating his face. Tears began cascading down George’s cheek, his lips trembled. Dream wasn’t sure how he had expected George to take it, but this struck Dream’s heart much more than he had anticipated. What had he done? Dream was a monster. Why did he ever think this was a good idea?

“Dream…” Dream’s words hit George harder than he’ll ever let himself admit. He darted his eyes from Quackity to Dream. Alex stood, hands on hips, looking more proud of himself than ever. He was howling with wicked laughter. George’s vision rested back to Dream, who stood there, emotionless. George knew Dream better than anyone else in the world, but he could barely read his expression now. Or maybe, George didn’t know Dream. George didn’t know Dream. He didn’t know Dream had been scheming with Alex. For how long had Dream been betraying George? Was George’s entire life a lie? Was every intimate moment, where Dream had cried over pet deaths to George, where Dream had comforted George after his house was burnt down, every little thing like that, was it just an act? How could he? How could Dream let darkness spread within him like this?

Dream looked sure of himself. He looked confident. He didn’t look regretful. Dream broke eye contact, looking back at Quackity with a smile. George’s heart twisted with sorrow. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

“Let’s go big man.” Alex indicated towards Dream, suggesting he follow him. George just stood unmoving, gazing in disbelief at the back of Dream’s head.

“Dream…” He repeated, the words just barely above a whisper. As Dream began marching away with Alex, George composed himself a bit more, vexation now erupting from somewhere within him. “So then, was it all a lie? How much of it was real?” He asked, to no avail. “Tell me, Dream.” George demanded, outrage painted on thickly to every word that slipped from his dry mouth. “You are a monster. I can’t believe you. I despise you.” He let it all out, aiming the words at the back of Dream’s head of dirty blonde locks. Not once did he turn back. Not once did Alex turn either. He thought he noticed Dream hesitate as he began fading out of sight, but George was sure he was imagining it. 

So Dream really lied? 

The question bounced around his head over and over. Everything. George couldn’t even put into words how he was feeling. The burning anger in his stomach receded back to pure heartbreak. George had handed Dream his whole heart, trusted him with it, and Dream gave it back in pieces. Sorrow pervaded George, cutting like a wound, right to the bone. Every inch of him was mourning and in disbelief. In shock. How would he ever process what had just happened? It felt someone had taken a shard of glass, and traced it across George’s stomach. He felt sick.

How could Dream live with himself, lying to George every day? Every time Dream had uttered the phrase “I love you,” was it just for show? George dropped to his knees, curling in on himself. His legs felt gelatinous, and were trembling. He couldn’t produce enough strength to stand. He skittishly rested his head in his hands, wailing as his tears came out in choked sobs. The only thoughts perceptible in George’s mind were negative. How could George even cajole himself back to a normal life after that? How could he move on from that? The breath was snatched from George’s body as he continued letting tears slide down his face, spluttering and gasping for air. He was hunched over, clutching desperately at his stomach. 

George wanted it all to stop, he wanted out. He didn’t want to ever have to reminisce back to this moment. He wanted all his memories of Dream to leave. He wanted a clean slate. He didn’t want this life anymore. He floundered around the pine needles on the forest floors weeping, bawling, screaming in pain. It hurt so much. It felt as if his lungs had shrunk to be the size of a pea, crushing themselves, distorting in so many ways.

It felt as though the ground gave way, and George had fallen into a bottomless pit. The pain ricocheted around his stomach, quirking off into different quarters of George’s body. He shook with torment and agony, unable to do anything else. He was alone, he had nobody. His hands balled into fists and he aimlessly grabbed onto anything in his reach, trying to find something to ground himself. Everything was pivoting, floating, breaking, falling to puddles by George’s side. He couldn’t see straight, everything was blurred from tears. 

His hand clasped around something sharp, something familiar. Yearning swamped in his stomach. 

Dream waved goodbye to Alex. Alex’s parting words had been words along the lines of, “Well done,” or “Good job my boy.” Dream couldn’t remember. He had only replied with a succinct hum. Dream felt sick to his stomach. George was alone back there, probably heartbroken. Dream couldn’t take it any longer, and started trekking back to George.

He heard someone cry out in pain, and Dream immediately broke into a run, haring towards where he had left George. A wistful tear scored Dream’s cheek. Once one fell, they all began trickling down his face. What had he done? Why had he done this? What made him think this was a good idea? Utter fear rumbled loudly in Dream’s stomach.

Dream made it to the clearing he had left George in. The same clearing he had met with Quackity, where he had been carving his shield. Dream scrutinized the area rolled out in front of him. He heard George’s sobs, but they were softer than before. That’s when he saw him.

Dream didn’t believe it when he saw it. He darted over to George, who was half hunched over, half lying, on the forest floor. Dream’s whole body convulsed with grief, his legs buckled from under him and he dropped to his knees. His hands floundered around aimlessly, unsure of what to, and what not to touch. He spotted his carving knife, stained with blood, tossed across the floor. He grabbed either side of George’s head and shook, hard, trying desperately to wake George up. The only sign of life was George’s eyelids pulling back briefly, letting Dream see how broken George was. His honey-coloured hazel eyes sparkled with sadness as they began to glaze over. 

“It was fake…” He choked out. “George! I promise you… I would- I- I would never do that to you, George.” He wailed, pulling George’s limp body closer to his own. Dream wrapped his arms around George, not caring whether or not blood dribbled onto him. He felt George’s finger twitch against his arm. At least that means, maybe, George had heard Dream. Perhaps, George was now aware that Dream really did love him. Possibly, in his last few breaths, he knew he was the most important person in the world to Dream. Dream weeped, not daring to let go of George. “George. George, please, George I love you.” He whispered into George’s ear. 

George shifted slightly. Dream thought it was more of a spasm due to dying, but then he heard it. The words were uttered softly, barely a whisper. Dream almost missed them. 

“I love you Dream, I’m sorry.” 

No, no, no, George shouldn’t be sorry. Dream hugged George impossibly tighter to his body. “No, you’re not sorry I am. I messed up, George. I love you. I love you so much. You’re gonna be okay, just relax. It’s fine, we’re fine. Everything will be…” He trailed off.

George lay unmoving in Dream’s embrace. The heat slowly ebbed from George’s body. Dream wiped away the tears from George’s cheek, trying to hold back his own sobs, and of course, failing. He cried his eyes out. “This was my fault.” Dream admitted, almost silently, to himself. He sat with George for a few minutes, then he lifted him up, bridal-style, and gently carried him to the edge of the trees, letting him lay in the sun. He was in a patch of buttercups on the grass. 

George’s hair was ruffled from Dream’s frantic embrace, and it fell slightly askew. His hair was a chocolate brown. Dream always thought his hair was very nice. Dream hunched over George, curling his hair behind his ear, brushing his face with his fingers. Little touches of affection. George looked perfect. Little freckles dotted George’s nose. Dream took George’s hand in his and just held onto it. With his free hand, his right hand, he picked buttercups from the green around them.

He talked about the buttercups to George.

“Look! I know you struggle to see the colour, but this one’s a vibrant yellow, like the sun. Aureolin, I would say. I know you think it’s funny when I use fancy words for colours, but I also know you like it. This buttercup is very pretty, I think,” Dream paused, lifting the buttercup to George’s chin. A yellow tinge washed the underside of George’s jaw. “Look Georgie, you like butter.” Dream stated softly, sadly. Dream then let the buttercup ascend to his own chin. “Do I like butter?” He asked, of course, to nobody. “Let’s see,” he began, “Yes! I do! We both like butter, isn’t that neat, George.” Dream expressed, excitement in his voice.

When there, as expected, was no response, Dream let himself fall onto his back on the grass. He lay splayed out next to George’s tranquil, stagnant body. In one last attempt to accept what had happened, Dream glanced up at the sky. It was a bright blue.

He pointed at it. “George!” He called. “Look! George! The sky is your favourite shade of blue. Oh, and look at the clouds,” Dream’s eyes studied the clouds as they trudged across the sky. “That one looks like a dog.” He continued. “I’ll miss you, George.” Dream mentioned, almost inaudibly. 

And Dream did miss George. He lay there with George all night. He did that the next day, and the next, until he could muster the strength to leave George.

He still came and visited him daily, to talk about his days and update George on everything.

**Author's Note:**

> it's me again! i hope you liked it :)  
> im open to any feedback, this is my first time posting my work on here  
> remember to go have some water, and take a deep breath, i know that was a lot <3


End file.
